These Things are Hard
by bloodredcherry
Summary: A young woman comes to the FBI seeking agent Hotchner, but she's not what she seems. She is a messenger, and the BAU is running out of time.


These Things are Hard

**Authors Note: **This is about a victim. All constructive criticism is welcome, it's been a while since I've watched the show consecutively and I rarely write for crime dramas. This is by no means a romantic fic. As the story progresses, there will be disturbing content.

If anyone is interested, the song that was a soundtrack for this story was _Lisa Germano's_ The Longest Night of All.

**Rating:** K+ The rating might go up in later chapters, but no higher than T.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything besides my original characters.

&&&

She was perched on the edge of the curb; she licked her chapped lips, and pulled at the cuff of her torn jeans with her left hand. Her right hand was jammed into the pocket of her sweatshirt; it was a few sizes too big, she was fingering the edges of folded paper. The note sat heavy in her pocket and she gave a shaky sigh, she pulled up the sleeve of her sweatshirt and checked her watch. The face was cracked and she absently brushed off some dirt, or was it blood? She couldn't tell.

A breeze picked up and she shivered, hard. It was cold outside, and there was nothing under her sweatshirt.

She tapped her foot impatiently, and a curse slipped through her lips. It was getting late and she desperately craved a cigarette. She tugged on the cuff of her jeans again, this time they ripped and she flinched. That was when she heard it, a car; she paused, and then got up so quickly that she stumbled.

She tried to act nonchalant and she kept running the name through her head, she tried to see the face through the windshield, but the early morning sun was glinting off the glass in such a way that she couldn't see who it was.

The door opened and she paused, leaned against the back of a tree and swallowed hard.

"A—" the name caught in the back of her throat, she tried to remember and suddenly it clicked. "Aaron Hotchner?"

"Excuse me?"

"I need Aaron Hotchner."

"I'm not him."

She felt the blood drain from her face and for a moment she felt dizzy. "I – I –I need Aaron Hotchner, shit –". She felt tightness in her chest.

"Ma'am?"

"I need Aaron Hotchner."

Derek Morgan watched the woman; she was clearly agitated, but not angry. She was a slip of a girl and she was staring at the ground and she cursed again and brought her hand to her hair. He saw the angry red mark, and what looked like crude stitches. She was muttering under her breath and when she glanced up momentarily Derek saw that her bloodshot eyes were filled with tears.

"Hey," he said, "calm down," he stepped towards her, she shied away.

"I –" She began again.

"Hotchner, right," Derek said quickly, "I can take you to him."

He saw her pause; the mistrust in her posture was obvious. He fumbled in his coat and pulled out his badge. "My name is Derek Morgan, I'm with the FBI. Hotchner, he's the boss."

The tension in her shoulders seemed to ease for a moment and she nodded, the tears finally spilled down her cheeks. She made no effort to wipe them away. Morgan pulled a folded tissue from his pocket and held it out.

"Here," he said, he held it in the palm of his hand and she stared at it. She made no move to take the tissue from his hand and he sighed. "Come on," he said finally, "he's inside."

------

Aaron Hotchner was in his office when he heard the commotion, it sounded like a woman yelling.

"Excuse me, can I call you back?" He asked, and then he hung up the phone.

"No, no, _no_!" Aaron heard as he stepped into the hall. He saw the woman immediately; she was dressed in a pair of oversized jeans and a grey sweatshirt. She had herself cornered against Reid's desk, her hands were up in front of her - a defensive move.

Derek glanced up and relief washed over his face. "Hotch!" Aaron didn't waste anytime rushing down to the bullpen.

"I can't," the woman said.

"Who is she?" Aaron asked Derek who shrugged, he looked first to Reid and then to the woman. "Excuse me ma'am."

"They said I have to stay here," the woman blurted, she was visibly shaking, "but I can't, he said I have to go back, there were very specific instructions."

"She came up to me in the parking lot," Derek explained, "she kept repeating the same thing over and over. That she needed you."

Aaron pulled his badge out of his pocket, "Ma'am," he said again, louder this time, "I'm Aaron Hotchner, I was told you need to speak to me."

She was breathing heavily, he stepped forward and held out his badge, this time she took the proffered item – practically ripped it out of his hands. She stared down at his identification, brushed her hands across it and then she began to cry.

-----

"She's hysterical," Reid told Jason.

"Understandably," Jason Gideon replied.

"You should have seen when we tried to take her to the interrogation room."

"What specifically did she ask for?" He wondered.

"Aaron Hotchner," Reid replied, "that's all she said to Morgan before we suggested taking her into the interrogation room."

"Gideon," Derek said, coming up behind the two agents. "She thought I was Hotchner," he settled onto the edge of Reid's desk. "She had no idea who Hotch was until he showed her his badge."

"She must not be from the area; Hotch has made a few television appearances."

"Does anyone know why she wanted Hotch?" Gideon looked to his agents.

"She wouldn't say anything."

"Then we'll have to try and get it out of her."

----

"Have a seat …?" Aaron paused and looked pointedly at her, she either didn't get the implication or she ignored it.

"I have something for you," she blurted.

"What is it?"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter. She held it out, and Hotch noticed a shadow against her wrist. It was a purple bruise.

"You're hurt," he said softly.

"I'm late."

"Late?" He heard the sound of rustling paper and he looked down, she shook the note at him. He opened it gingerly, and glanced down. His face didn't change, except for a tick in his right cheek. "Who gave you this?"

She took a step back, "he – he told me to give it you." She was chewing her thumb nail.

"Who's he?"

"Please," she said. "I have to go home."

Aaron licked his lips, "I'll be right back." He kept the note clutched tightly in his left hand. "Gideon!" he yelled, as he strode into the bullpen. "Morgan," he beckoned the younger agent. "Watch her, she could run."

"What's going on?" Jason asked.

"Look at what she gave me," Hotch held open the note. It was a Polaroid picture of a woman's face, it only captured her face, and no background was exposed. Her eyes were wide, and her pupils were dilated. Written underneath in red permanent marker were the words:

_Don't you wish you could help them_?

**End Note**: Thanks for reading this, any constructive criticism are welcome. This is my first Criminal Minds fic!


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